


Red Hair, Scar

by redex (urvogel)



Category: DOGS (Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-22
Updated: 2006-06-22
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urvogel/pseuds/redex
Summary: He's a young ghost who can't stand women, and you're just along for the ride.





	Red Hair, Scar

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on fanfiction.net. Some edits have been made for spelling.

Sometimes he comes to pick you up at work, and you get him to stock up on candy with his points. You suck on the candy instead of smoke when you're in the booth, so as not to attract the disapproving glares of the older people - as if the air they breathe isn't just as bad as your smoke. You're not very good at dealing with money, so the staff don't really trust you behind the counter, even though all the women and their kids love you. The babies especially like your red hair, their eyes following you everywhere as you move around the small booth as you select their toys and candy.

They leave you with knowing smiles and waves when Heine shows up and does his best not to look like a skittish ghost - usually failing miserably. You sometimes wonder what is really thought behind those knowing smiles when they look between you two before saying goodbye. Maybe they could let you know what your relationship is, because you sure as hell don't know. 

You've spent nights at his apartment, with it's dizzying black and white tiles that have left bruises on your bony parts. It matches his hair. Everything in the apartment is black and white, and some part of you thinks that maybe it's a metaphor, and the rest of you thinks that maybe it was just 'cause the prick was so goddamn frugal. You never fuck during the day, and never with the lights on. His hands slide over you until you're gasping and moaning and growling at him to get a move on. Sometimes he bites you, and afterwards apologizes, rubbing the bandage around his neck. It hurts, but you can't complain - you can tell it's not something he can bear to hear. 

He always pulls away from you after you're done, even though it's his bed. You wouldn't mind snuggling up to him to sleep, but you don't mention it; you just wait until he falls asleep, sometimes whimpering and kicking, to sneak over to his side of the bed. You long to slide your arms around him, and sometimes he lets you, sighing in his sleep to press his head under your chin. Even though you're the one on bottom when it comes to sex, he seems like the less dominant of you two afterwards; vulnerable and lost in his nightmares. 

You're falling asleep leaning against the wall, your ass going numb from the hard floor. Heine is still sitting in front of the window, tenacious and unwilling to give up the chase - even if they are only trying to peg a few guys for drug dealing. You yawn and light up another cigarette, adding the previous stub to a small mountain near your knee. The flare of your lighter reminds you that you've almost finished a pack in the course of your hours-long stakeout. The light of the flame highlights gold in Heine's hair before flickering out, and you shove him with an elbow. 

"Hey Heine," you ask, shifting with a wince and roll onto your knees to lean out the window too into the night as your bum tingles with renewed blood flow. There still isn't anything happening in the window across the lane, and you're quite ready to give up. "This is useless. We can come back tomorrow night." 

Of course, with your luck, it is then that an electric light turns on and Heine perks up like a dog that has sighted his prey, ears pointing up and leaning over the windowsill until he remembers the binoculars. You sulk for a moment, leaning over his shoulder to watch as a dark shadow moves in front of the window, and then another. A girl and a guy from what you can see, although your vision is not very good. 

"Hey, hey," you nag, your chest now pressing against his back. He shivers and leans back against you until you give way. The lenses have left his face. 

"We have to get over there. Now."

And if the lord so decrees, you can only follow. 

A gunshot is heard as you rush up the stairs, and then another when you're at the door. Heine kicks it open and rushes in first, in his usual style, with you following along behind. You don't see what makes him stop, and then the guns are out and the silence is gone completely. There are a few screams from the unfortunate dealer, and before you even bend down to press a few fingers to the girl's neck you know she's dead. The only person you've seen recover from a bullet in the head like that is Heine. 

He's shaking and you don't need to even look to know that the guy is quite dead. You stand and wipe your fingers off on your pants, turning to look at his hunched shoulders. He's looking down at the girl, at the skirt pulled up her thigh and the coat that collected her blood in pools in it's folds. 

It's your job to grab the guy's id and his drugs to make sure you get paid for the job; Heine is useless in the sight of the girl. You eventually have to grab his arm and drag him out as the sirens start collecting in your direction. The police are always the last to arrive, and neighbours start pushing into the room like rats as soon as you leave. There'll be nothing left of the place, and you know Heine wants to protect the girl, but you've got to get out of there before someone figures out what's going on. 

He stumbles on the way down the stairs and you wrap an arm around his waist just to hold him up. 

It takes a few cups of your best/worst coffee to get his eyes to clear, and you even offer him a smoke before he wakes up a little. Something about that girl in the pool of blood got to him, and even though you might not know what it is, you can still remind yourself of how young he is and smooth the hair back from his face as he pulls you back towards the bed. 

For once you deny him the sex, forcing him to settle for pressing your naked bodies together. Naked, you can see the eight years between you easily, even though he is infinitely more fit in body than you. You know that if he could ever bear to give up the fighting lifestyle he could make good money as a whore. You tried it once and decided to leave it to the professionals. 

He cries a little in his sleep, struggling enough to make you wake into a haze between awake and asleep. He ends up sobbing into your neck before he falls back into his silent, mournful sleep. You tug at the strings of your eye-patch and let it fall off. The blank, unseeing eye aches with memory. 

Scars fade with time, but it takes a lot of time to make these scars fade away; time they do not have. No one survives that long in this place.


End file.
